


How the West Was Awesome

by shutterbug_12 (shutterbug)



Category: How I Met Your Mother
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Western, Bandits & Outlaws, Duelling, Gen, Guns, Western, high noon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:24:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutterbug/pseuds/shutterbug_12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A routine day in the Old West is derailed when a stranger challenges Barney to a high-noon showdown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How the West Was Awesome

**Author's Note:**

> Old West crack!AU that has been _two years_ in the making--true story, [](http://earlwyn.livejournal.com/profile)[**earlwyn**](http://earlwyn.livejournal.com/) and I first chatted/flailed about it in June of 2009. (And now that it has finally surfaced, I regret nothing!) Thanks to my betas, [](http://slybrunette.livejournal.com/profile)[**slybrunette**](http://slybrunette.livejournal.com/) and [](http://earlwyn.livejournal.com/profile)[**earlwyn**](http://earlwyn.livejournal.com/). For [](http://tosca1390.livejournal.com/profile)[**tosca1390**](http://tosca1390.livejournal.com/)!

“They’re ugly.”

“No, they’re _not_!”

“Ted, they look like you stepped in an enormous vat of ketchup.” With her back to the bar, Lily raised her beer for a sip. Her mouth stretched into a crimped line as she swallowed. “Face it. They’re ketchup boots.”

“They’re--” Ted glanced down at his new boots. His buffed red boots--beauties. Absolute beauts. “Come on, Lily. They’re _stylin’_.”

“Really?” she asked, eyebrows raised as she made a show of scanning the weekend crowd. “If they’re so stylin’, how come I don’t see anyone else wearing them? I’d think such a bitchin’ pair of boots would be more popular.”

He peered across the room, his eyes leaping from one pair of feet to another. Table after table, boots touched the dusty wooden floorboards. Black boots. Brown. Tan. But no red. Not even maroon.

“Yeah, well,” he said, slipping one hand in the front pocket of his jeans, striking his best macho pose. He tapped his foot loudly on the floor. “I’m setting a _trend_. That’s me. A trend setter. Trend-setting Ted.”

Lily looked as though she had a retort ready on her tongue, but the swinging double doors of the saloon drew her attention, and she stood on her tiptoes to look over Ted’s shoulder at MacLaren's newest patron.

He approached them both with a steady stride. With a tip of his wide-brimmed hat, he nodded at her. “Miss Lily,” he said. His silver badge flashed on his chest.

Ted downed the rest of his beer and watched as Lily beamed.

“Sheriff Marshall,” she cooed, reaching out to straighten his badge. “You want a cold one, baby?”

“Thanks,” he said, kissing her cheek before taking a seat at the corner bar stool. As Lily bustled toward the center of the bar to catch Carl’s attention, Ted caught Marshall’s scrutinizing head-tilt, eyes on his boots, and anticipated his jibe before it even left his mouth: “Dude, you’re still wearing those?”

Ted huffed, annoyed and flustered. Lily returned to their corner and--unintentionally, he thought--saved him from the necessity of defending his boots. No, his honor, his _dignity_. His boots were, he considered, more than just a choice of footwear; they were a _statement_. A statement that he _totally_ pulled off. Totally. They’d see--Marshall and Lily. One day they’d see what he saw. He raised his hand, signalling for another beer.

After throwing back his first mouthful, Marshall blurted, “So, good news or bad news?” He glanced at both of them. “Which one do you want first?”

“Oh! The good news!” Lily said.

“Okay, the good news. The city council approved the new room for the schoolhouse.”

“Oh, yay! That’s great, sweetie!” she said, her face brightening. “Can you imagine? _Two_ whole rooms? Now I’ll be able to keep the sixth graders away from the rest of the kids. There was an incident with spitballs last week, and it was _not_ pretty.”

Ted grinned, pulling his fresh beer towards himself. “So what’s the bad news, Marshall? Marshal Marshall.”

“Okay, come on,” Marshall said, his voice sliding with a weary tone. “You have to stop calling me that or nobody in this town is going to take me seriously.”

“Whatever you say, Marshal.” Ted paused, meeting Marshall’s eyes before he smiled and quickly added, “Marshall.”

“Ted, _seriously_.”

“Okay, seriously, what’s the bad news?”

“So, Mr. Hobbs? Arthur? He handed over a petition saying that everyone in town is demanding--” He paused for a long drink. “A clock tower. They want a _giant_ clock tower.”

Ted sputtered so violently that he nearly sprayed his beer all over the bar. “Really? Oh, my God, can I design it? Think about how great that would be!” He swept his hand through the air, painting an invisible picture above their heads. “ _There_ , a majestic, practical, yet architecturally distinctive addition to the skyline. A beacon on the desert horizon.”

Marshall sighed. A doubtful expression rolled across his face as he glanced at Lily, then looked down into his beer and said, “I don’t know, Ted. I already have enough to deal with. There was that bank robbery the other day. I just heard about a northern gunslinger who’s on the loose. And now there’s the schoolhouse. And as soon as I see Barney, I’m going to stuff him full of his own stupid ‘wanted’ posters and mount him on the wall like a prairie dog. If people, and ‘people,’ of course, being Barney, are going to post ‘wanted’ signs all over the feed store, they should at least be _real_.”

As if the words had summoned him, Barney pushed open the doors, his shadow stretching across the floor as he ambled toward them. His spurs jangled over the din of the saloon as he eyed patrons from under his black hat, pausing to wink at a blushing barmaid. When he stopped in front of them, he cocked his head and tugged on the lapels of his suit, straightened his tie and smoothed his shirt--everything black--as if he were trying to extend the silence for dramatic effect.

Ted rolled his eyes.

“So,” said Marshall, sitting tall on his stool. “So, _look_ who it is--”

Barney raised his hands in mock-surrender. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said. “Relax, Marshall. Everything’s cool.” He nodded at the shy barmaid. “Glass of whiskey for me, baby doll. Thanks.”

“No, Barney, I don’t think I _will_ relax. Do you know what I’ve been doing all--”

“Come on, Marshall. How many times have I told you? It’s _Black Tie Barney_.” He scooped up his whiskey and took a generous sip. “Just wait. It’s going to be a thing.”

“A _thing_?” Marshall said. “So is that why you’re wallpapering the town with your ‘wanted’ posters, so you can make it a _thing_?”

Barney threw back the rest of his whiskey and signalled for another. “ _No_.” His face scrunched with a mask of repulsed disbelief. “I did that because they look _good_. Check it out.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a roll of paper. Wedging himself between Lily and Ted, he unrolled it and smiled. “How awesome is _that?_ I printed them myself,” he said, unmistakably proud.

Barney’s image beamed at them, framed by block-letter words that included the promise of a _very pleasurable_ reward.

“Ah, my best suit,” he swooned. “Great for the glamor shot.”

Ted blinked, fixing his face with a deadpan expression as he looked from Barney to the poster. He was about to let an unimpressed remark slide out of him, but he snapped his mouth shut, his eyebrows furrowing. The paper jerked, not once, not twice, but three times. Again, and again. He glanced back at Barney, expecting a dramatic outpouring of _emotion_ over the latest styles from the east coast. But before he could get a good read, Lily stole his attention.

“Barney?” she said, her voice loaded with suspicion. She pointed at his hand. “Your hand’s shaking.”

Ted nearly stepped in to brush it off, but Barney faltered, hurrying to drop his hand to his side. “What? No, it’s not.” With his other hand, he downed his second glass of whiskey like a shot.

“Yes, it is!” she said, grabbing his hand and holding tightly. “I can feel it!”

“It’s not _shaking_ ,” he said, wrenching his hand back to recollect his poster. “It’s vibrating with the power of how--how _awesome_ I truly am. The power of my awesomeness, which is in constant danger of _burst_ ing out of me, unrestrained, and melting your all of your less awesome minds. Like the power of God, but mightier.”

“Oh, really?” Lily pressed.

Ted exchanged curious glances with Marshall, raising his eyebrows and waiting.

Under her gaze, Barney’s smooth veneer cracked, his face wilting with panic before he finally exploded. “Oh, all right! You got me! I can’t help it!”

The three of them stared at him.

Barney hesitated, peering around the saloon. “I was minding my own business--”

Ted leaned on the bar. “You never mind your own business.”

“--outside Sandy Rivers--”

“The news stand?”

“Yeah, and just as I was browsing the latest issue of Desert Rose--sidebar, I hooked up with Miss June behind the stables last--” Suddenly Barney’s eyes widened when he looked toward the doors, and he scampered behind Marshall, ducking low. “Oh, my God, it’s _him_. That’s the guy!”

They all swiveled and found a man strutting past the doors. A stranger. Unkempt, shaggy hair, one hand curled around a pistol at his hip.

Barney ducked even lower. “That’s the guy, that’s the guy!”

Lily lowered her voice to a whisper, “The guy?”

“He cornered me at the news stand with one of my posters and challenged me to a duel. _A duel_. Like a showdown. A high noon showdown. Seriously, who does this guy think he is, Dirty Harry? You have to stop him, Marshall. You have to arrest him. I’m too young to die. My _suit_ is too young to die,” Barney rambled into Marshall’s shoulder.

“I hate to point this out, _Black Tie Barney_ ,” Lily said. “But you kind of invited it.”

Barney stared, aghast. “ _What?_ ” he asked, his voice leaping a few octaves. “No-o-o.”

She shrugged. “Your poster says you’ve never lost a showdown. That’s practically a dare.”

Barney’s face twisted with pained frustration. “Lily, really, have I taught you nothing? A ‘wanted’ poster is like your resume. You can fill it with all the ego-fluffing catch phrases you want, but nobody expects you to back it up with _proof_.”

Marshall turned his head in Barney’s direction. “Okay, calm down, buddy. Just--”

“How can you expect me to be _calm_ at a time like this? I’ve got to get out of here,” Barney hissed, starting to creep around them.

Ted lunged and tried to reach him, but he’d already dashed to the end of the bar. With a healthy amount of momentum behind him, Ted had to catch himself on a bar stool, forcing it to scrape across the floor. The scruffy cowboy’s head jerked toward the noise, then to Barney, who had broken out into a mad scramble toward the doors. Ted mustered a weak smile.

The man caught up with Barney, grabbing a fistful of his suit.

“Ugh, no,” Barney said, his tone meek but disgusted, “you’re wrinkling--the wrinkles--I just had this steamed.” He tried to pry the fingers away, managing to keep his feet under him as the man hauled him out of the saloon. _Help!_ , he mouthed, pointing at himself before he disappeared into the street.

For a second, they all sat dumbfounded, but simultaneously burst into motion, rushing outside ahead of the rest of the saloon’s customers.

“Do you think this guy’s for real?” Ted asked, hurrying alongside Lily and Marshall. When he saw the stranger deposit Barney at the end of the block, lean inches away from his face and snarl at him, Ted answered his own question. “Yeah, I’d say he looks _pretty_ serious.”

Beside him, Lily tapped Marshall’s arm. “Get in there, baby,” she urged.

To Marshall’s credit, he didn’t show a millisecond’s hesitation before he propelled himself into the street and headed toward the unfamiliar man.

“Excuse me! Excuse me! Hi,” Marshall shouted, waving at the stranger who had taken his place opposite Barney, a few dozen feet away. “I’m Marshall, the Sheriff. Hi.”

The stranger glowered. At the other end of the block, Barney stood, unmoving, like a trunk of petrified wood.

“You know, it’s a hot sun out here, and I know how people can overreact when the sun’s beating down like this. So what do you say we all come over here into the shade and work out our differences like mature adults?”

And what happened next became the stuff of local legend.

All at once, the cowboy’s hand moved for his pistol and a loud shot echoed between the buildings. The next moment, the cowboy dove for the dirt and every head of every onlooker turned to stare at the tall woman who stood several feet behind Barney, pistol still aimed and smoke swirling from the barrel.

When Marshall darted over to the stranger, the woman lowered her weapon, heading for the cluster of onlookers, her dark hair and red skirt fluttering in the wind. She singled out Ted and Lily, who stood apart from the rest of the crowd.

“Is he a friend of yours?” the woman asked, gesturing to Barney.

“Friend is a relative term,” Ted said.

“But yeah, he’s with us,” Lily added. “How did you--”

“Oh, I could sense a showdown a mile away,” she said with an air of nonchalance. “All the dust in the air, the way it sounds so _still_ , you know?”

Ted nodded, clueless but awed.

“Anyway,” she continued. “I came over to check it out. Took two seconds for me to see he was a goner.”

As they talked, the crowd dispersed, shuffling back into the saloon or making their way down the street.

Barney stood frozen, his eyes squeezed shut. “Am I dead? Am I dead?” he asked, opening one eye to peek down the street. He must have seen the commotion at the other end, because he snapped back to himself as if the last five minutes had never happened.

“ _Oh_ , yeah!” Barney shouted. “Jail-suit up!” He pointed at the stranger as Marshall pulled him off the ground led him away, then turned back towards them, his eyes falling to their new acquaintance. “Whoa, and who is this fine lady?”

She holstered her pistol, stepping forward. “I’m Robin. From up north.”

“Black Tie Barney,” he said, adopting a deeper tone of voice, sidling closer to her.

“Robin, this is Barney,” Ted interjected. “Lily--” He gestured at her. “--and I’m Ted. Oh, and Marshall’s over there.” He pointed up the street. “You could meet him later.”

“Well,” she said, a smile spreading across her face for the first time. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Did you--I mean, did you _shoot_ that guy?” Lily asked, nodding to the opposite end of the street where, until a moment ago, Marshall had been wrangling the cowboy.

“Nah. I made sure the bullet whizzed right past his ear. No harm done. Well, except to his ego, but it looked like he could stand to be taken down a peg.”

Barney brushed dust off his sleeve. “I could have taken him. I was just biding my time for the suspense. Black Tie Barney, fastest gun in the west, if you know what I mean.” With a quick hip pump, he winked at Robin. “ _You_ know what I’m talking about. High noon five.” He raised his hand, offering it to each of them with no success.

Lily rolled her eyes and glanced at Robin. “You’ll get used to him,” she said, then turned back to Barney. “But you know, fastest gun in the west? Not something you want to brag about, there, fella.” She shared a smirk with Robin. “Oh, and speaking of--Robin, what do you think of Ted’s boots?”

Robin looked down before her eyes flickered up to Ted’s face with a grimace. “ _Oh_ ,” she said. “Yeah, those don’t even belong on a rodeo clown.”

“What? No! They’re classic! I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m totally pulling these off!” Ted shouted, keeping up his defense all the way back into the saloon.  



End file.
